The Storm Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘As a matter of fact, I haven’t booked anywhere to stay yet,’ I said as we walked back up the hillside. ‘I’m sure I’ll find somewhere through the tourist information centre in town.’

  ‘You could check out my hotel. It’s extremely clean and on the old harbour front, with a glorious view across the fjord. I’m very impressed by your relaxed outlook on accommodation,’ he added as we walked back to the main reception area. ‘When I’m travelling, I have to book weeks in advance and know exactly where I’m staying or I go into severe meltdown.’

  ‘Maybe it’s all the years of sailing that have given me a more laissez-faire attitude. I can sleep anywhere.’

  ‘And maybe it’s because I’m more anal than most people that I can’t. My obsession with organisation drives everyone who knows me mad.’

  I collected my rucksack from Else, the girl on the till, then waited by the entrance while Willem organised a taxi. As I watched him discreetly, I thought how his inner tension revealed itself physically in the way he carried himself: like a soldier, every sinew taut, hands clenching and unclenching as Else spoke to the taxi company.

  Driven . . . was the word that sprang to my mind.

  ‘So, where do you live when you’re not sailing or running around looking for long-dead musicians and their wives?’ he asked me when the taxi arrived and we climbed in.

  ‘In Geneva, at my family home.’

  ‘So you don’t have a permanent place of your own?’

  ‘No, I’ve never really needed one. I’m always away.’

  ‘That’s another way in which we’re different. My apartment in Zurich is my haven. Mind you, I do have to stop myself from asking people to take their shoes off or pressing an anti-bacterial wipe into their hands when they come to see me.’

  My mind flashed back to the way he’d surreptitiously cleaned his hands after playing the piano earlier.

  ‘I know I’m odd,’ he continued affably, ‘so there’s no need to be embarrassed about thinking it.’

  ‘Most of the musicians I’ve ever met are eccentric. I’m tempted to think it’s just part and parcel of being artistic.’

  ‘Or possibly “autistic”, as my shrink tells me. Maybe there’s a fine line between the two. My mother says I need a significant other to sort me out, but I can’t imagine anyone putting up with my foibles. Do you have a partner?’

  ‘I . . . I did, but he died a few weeks ago,’ I said, staring out of the car window.

  ‘I am so sorry, Ally, my condolences.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Don’t worry, nobody does,’ I comforted him.

  ‘Is that why you’re here in Norway?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

  The taxi began to drive slowly along one side of the lovely harbour. It was flanked by wood-fronted buildings, painted in alternating shades of white, claret, ochre and yellow, with distinctive V-shaped red-tiled roofs. All the colours blurred suddenly in front of my eyes as I felt tears pricking them.

  ‘Well’ – Willem cleared his throat after an extended pause – ‘I don’t usually talk about this, but as a matter of fact, I have some hands-on experience with what you’re going through. My partner died five years ago, just after Christmas. It’s not a good memory.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry too.’ I patted his clenched fist, and it was his turn to look the other way.

  ‘In my case, it was a blessed release. Jack was very, very ill by the end. You?’

  ‘A sailing accident. One minute Theo was there, the next he wasn’t.’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t know which is worse. I had time to come to terms with it, but I still had to watch someone I loved suffer. I’m still not over it, I suppose. Anyway, I don’t mean to depress you any more than you probably are, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. It’s comforting in an odd sort of way to know other people who have been there,’ I replied as the taxi drew to a halt outside a tall brick building.

  ‘Here’s my hotel. Why don’t you come in and ask if they’ve got any rooms? I doubt you can do much better.’

  ‘Certainly, view-wise I couldn’t,’ I agreed. As I stepped out of the taxi, I saw that the Havnekontoret hotel was only a few metres away from the edge of the quay, against which a beautiful old double-masted schooner was moored. ‘Theo would have liked this,’ I muttered, glad now I could say that and know he’d understand instantly.

  ‘Yes. Here, let me take your luggage for you.’

  I asked the taxi driver to wait for a few minutes as I followed Willem into the hotel and enquired about availability at the desk. Once a room was secured, I went back outside and told the taxi driver he could go.

  ‘Well, I’m glad that’s organised for you.’ Willem was hovering tensely in the reception area. ‘Apparently my journalist has arrived. I loathe them but there we are. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said as he walked off in the direction of a woman who was waiting for him in the lobby.

  After handing over my credit card, and getting the password for the Wi-Fi, I took the lift upstairs to my room. It was in the eaves of the building with a stunning vista of the harbour. Night was closing in already, so I changed out of my jeans into sweatpants and a hoody and switched on my laptop. As I waited for it to connect, I thought about Willem and how, despite all his strangeness, I’d liked him. Checking through my emails, I saw there was another from Magdalena Jensen, the translator.

  From: Magdalenajensen1@trans.no

  To: Allygeneva@gmail.com

  Subject: Grieg, Solveig og Jeg / Grieg, Solveig and I

  1st September 2007

  Dear Ally,

  Attached is the rest of the translation. I’ll send the original copy of the book back to the address in Geneva. Hope you enjoy reading it. It’s an interesting story.

  With kind regards, Magdalena

  Clicking on ‘Open attachment’, I watched impatiently as the next tranche of pages downloaded. And then I began to read again . . .

  Anna

  Christiania, Norway

  August 1876

  25

  ‘Anna, kjære, what a delight it is to have you back with us,’ Frøken Olsdatter said as she ushered Anna into the apartment and took her cloak. ‘With Herr Bayer away in Drøbak, life here has been far too quiet. How was your time in the country?’

  ‘It was lovely, thank you, although not long enough,’ Anna said as she followed Frøken Olsdatter into the drawing room.

  ‘Tea?’

  ‘I’d love some,’ Anna replied.

  ‘Then I shall bring it in to you.’

  As Frøken Olsdatter left the room, Anna thought how glad she was to be back in Christiania with the housekeeper’s kind attentions. And even if I have become spoilt, I do not care, she said to herself as she breathed a sigh of relief that she would sleep on a comfortable mattress and wake to breakfast on a tray tomorrow morning. Never mind the thought of a hot bath . . .

  Frøken Olsdatter broke into her thoughts as she came back with a tray of tea. ‘Well, I have some news for you,’ she said as she poured the liquid into two china cups and handed one to Anna. ‘Herr Bayer is unable to return to Christiania at present. His poor mother is very sick and he cannot leave her. He thinks the end will come soon and, of course, he wishes to be there with her. So, you have been left in my care until he returns.’

  ‘I am very sorry to hear that his dear mother is so ill,’ Anna replied, even though she wasn’t at all sorry Herr Bayer’s arrival was delayed.

  ‘Rehearsals are during the day, so I will chaperone you on the tram there and back. After you have finished your tea, you must go and inspect your new wardrobe. The winter clothes Herr Bayer ordered from the dressmaker have been delivered. They are very splendid indeed, I think. There is also a letter for you which I have put in your room.’

  Ten minutes later, Anna opened her wardrobe door to find it filled with an array of beautiful hand-made garments. T
here were blouses fashioned from the softest silk and muslin, skirts made from fine wool, and two exquisite gowns: one the colour of topaz and the other a dusky rose-pink. There were also two new corsets, several pairs of bloomers and stockings as fine as spiders’ webs.

  The thought of Herr Bayer ordering such intimate items for her made her shudder, but she put it to the back of her mind, telling herself it must have been Frøken Olsdatter who had arranged the making of those. Sitting on a high shelf were two pairs of heeled shoes, one pair in the same dusky-pink silk of the dress with a little silver buckle, and the other pair a soft ivory colour with white embroidery. Trying the pink pair on, her eyes fell on a hatbox, which she carefully lifted down. She gasped as she took off the lid. The hat matched her pink dress and sported the most elaborate arrangement of feathers and ribbons she had ever seen. Anna thought back to her first arrival at Christiania railway station and how she had marvelled over the ladies’ hats. This one, she thought as she set it carefully on her head, rivalled them all. As she practised walking around the room in her new shoes and head attire, she felt taller and older somehow, and thought incredulously how much she had changed since her arrival here.

  Then, sitting down with the hat still perched on her head, Anna took the letter Frøken Olsdatter had left for her. With a sigh, she saw it was from Lars and opened it tentatively, dreading its contents.

  Stalsberg Våningshuset

  Tindevegen

  Heddal

  22nd July 1876

  My dearest Anna,

  I promised I would write to explain in detail the short conversation we had on the night of your brother’s wedding.

  In the past few months, it has become obvious to me that your life in Christiania has altered your hopes and visions for the future. Please, my dear Anna, do not feel guilty about this. It is only natural they should change. You have a great talent, and more to the point, that talent is being harnessed by important people who can nurture it and give it to the world.

  Even if your parents believe that little has changed, I understand that an awful lot has. Appearing as Solveig at the Christiania Theatre this autumn is an opportunity that is bound to alter you further. However hard I find it, I must accept that to marry me may no longer appeal to you. If it ever did to begin with, which I doubt.

  I understand that your morals and your good heart would never have allowed you to vocalise your true feelings. Apart from hurting me, you would not have risked disappointing your parents. Therefore, as we discussed, I will tell them that I have decided I cannot wait for you any longer. Already your father has bought my land and that financial arrangement suits me well. Just as you are not domestic, I am not a farmer, and now my father is dead there is little to keep me here.

  And it seems there is another alternative.

  Anna, I must tell you that I have heard from Scribner, the publisher in New York City to whom I told you I had sent my poems. They wish to print them and have offered me a small advance to do so. As you know, my dream has always been to travel to America. With the money from your father for the land, I have just enough to book my passage. You can imagine that the idea excites me and to have my poems published there is an immense honour. It would have been my dearest wish to make you my wife and take you with me, so we could make a new life together there. However, the timing is inappropriate for you. And Anna, to be truthful, even if it wasn’t, I understand you could not love me as I have loved you.

  I bear you no grudge and wish you well. In a strange way, the Lord has offered us both freedom to pursue our paths, even if they cannot be intertwined. Although we are now not to be married, I hope I can remain your friend.

  I sail for America in six weeks’ time.

  Lars

  Anna laid the letter down on the bed next to her. And sat, deep in thought, feeling both moved and unsettled at the same time.

  America . . . She chastised herself for having believed it was a pipe dream of Lars’ and for not having taken him seriously. Now here he was, with his poems about to be published there, and the possibility of one day even following in the footsteps of Herr Ibsen himself.

  For the first time, Anna stopped seeing Lars as a victim, a sad dog to be petted. Through his land being sold to her father as a dowry, as he had said in his letters, he too had a chance to escape Heddal and follow his dream, just like her.

  This, at least, was comforting.

  Would she have travelled to America with him had he asked her?

  ‘No.’

  The answer fell from her lips unbidden. She fell back on the bed and her new silk hat tipped forward over her eyes.

  Apartment 4

  10 St Olav’s Gate

  Christiania

  4th August 1876

  Dear Lars,

  Thank you for your letter. I am very happy for your good fortune. I hope you will write to me from America. And please accept my gratitude for all you have done for me. Your help with my reading and writing made my life here in Christiania possible.

  Send my love to Mor and Far. I hope they do not shout at you when you tell them the wedding will not take place, and it is generous of you to take the blame.

  I hope you find a much better wife than me in America. I too wish to remain your friend.

  I hope you are not sick on the sea.

  Anna

  As Anna applied the seal to the letter, the impact of what he had said hit her. Now that Lars was only her friend and was going to America, she decided she would miss him.

  Should I have married him? she asked herself, standing up and wandering to the window to peer out on the street below. He was so good and kind. And he will probably make his fortune there, while I may well die an old maid . . .

  Later, as Anna walked along the corridor to place the letter on the silver salver to be posted, she felt the last tenuous thread that bound her to her old life finally snap.

  Rehearsals for Peer Gynt began three days later. The rest of the cast – many of them from the original production – were sweet and helpful to Anna, but whereas learning a song and then singing it caused her no problems at all, being an actress turned out to be more complicated than she had thought. Sometimes she’d move to the right place on the stage, but then forget to say her line as she did so; other times she’d remember both the former, but then fail to express the appropriate emotion on her face. Herr Josephson, the director, was very patient with her, but Anna felt it was a bit like having to rub her tummy and pat her head whilst dancing a polka all at the same time.

  After rehearsals on the fourth day, she wondered despondently if she would ever get it right. On her way out of the theatre, she gave a little cry of shock when a hand grabbed her arm as she walked towards the stage door.

  ‘Frøken Landvik, I heard you were back in Christiania. How was your time in the country?’

  There was Jens Halvorsen the Bad. Anna’s heart thumped at being so close to him, and although he loosened his grip on her arm, he left his hand resting there. She could feel the warmth of it through her sleeve, and she swallowed hard. Turning towards him, she was shocked to see the change in him. His normally shining curly hair hung lank about his face and his fine clothes were creased and filthy. He looked like he hadn’t had a good bath in weeks, and her nose confirmed it.

  ‘I . . . My chaperone is outside,’ she whispered. ‘Please leave me be.’

  ‘I will, but not until I tell you that I have missed you desperately. Surely I have proved my love and loyalty to you by now? Please, I am begging you to say you will meet me.’

  ‘No, I will not,’ she replied.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing to stop me finding you here at the theatre, is there, Frøken Landvik?’ he called to her as she hurried through the stage door and it shut with a bang behind her.

  Every day for the following week, Jens waited for Anna to leave the theatre after rehearsals.

  ‘Herr Halvorsen, this really is becoming most irritating,’ she’d whisper under her breath to him,
as Halbert, the doorman, took up his usual seat in the front row of their courtship.

  ‘Excellent! Then maybe you will relent and at least let me take you to tea.’

  ‘My chaperone will be happy to join us. Please inform her of your request,’ she would tell him as she swept past him, trying to suppress a smile. In reality, the daily meetings were what she looked forward to most and she had begun to relax a little, knowing the two of them were playing a tantalising game of cat and mouse. Given the fact Lars was no longer ‘waiting for her’ – never mind that she had also spent the long summer dreaming of Jens – despite her best efforts, Anna’s resolve began to crack.

  On the following Monday after a long weekend cooped up at the apartment, Frøken Olsdatter announced that she had to cross the city on Herr Bayer’s business. She had deemed Anna responsible enough to take the tram home alone and as Anna left the stage, she knew the moment had come to surrender.

  Jens was waiting for her as usual in the corridor by the stage door.

  ‘When will you say yes, Frøken Landvik?’ he asked her pitifully as she walked past him. ‘I must admit, even given my endurance, your rejection is slowly wearing my resolve away.’

  ‘Today?’ she said, turning to him abruptly.

  ‘I . . . well then . . . right.’

  Anna relished his shock with satisfaction.

  ‘We shall go to the Engebret Café across the square,’ he said. ‘It is a minute’s walk away.’

  Anna had heard about Engebret, and thought it sounded a very thrilling place indeed. ‘But what if someone sees us? They would think it inappropriate if I am unchaperoned.’

  ‘Hardly,’ Jens chuckled. ‘Engebret is mostly frequented by bohemians and drunken musicians who would not turn a hair if you stripped naked and danced on a table! No one will even notice us, I promise. Come, Frøken Landvik, we’re wasting time.’

  ‘Very well then.’ A frisson of excitement passed through her.